This is a blog post I wrote on March 19, 2016. I don't know why I didn't post it,but as I read it now, I feel it's worth the chronicles.
Let the healing begin!
Actually, I feel I've healed from the surgery. The incision that was cut down the length of my stomach to remove and free my guts of deadly infection has turned to a thick ugly scar. The drainage tube and collection bulb that was there to collect the extra fluid that my body produced due to the surgery has long since been gone. It got yanked out during a lift by hubby. It too has left behind a scar. This one being a purple circle on my stomach which, by the way, is growing into a jiggly jelly potbelly. The shoulder looks strange now with the appearance of two knobby bones where there was once smooth shoulder. And, of course, the ostomy bag that hangs from my stomach collecting the output of my small intestine. I have graduated from peeing into a diaper to peeing into a bedside commode. This requires the assistance of hubby. He can still lift my body although his bad back combined with my fattening up will surely mean that this will come to an end soon. For a regular person, the surgery will be a fading memory with these few remnants left behind to tell the story.
But I am not a regular person. I am a person with MS. There is no healing to thwart the evil progression of this wicked disease.
The event left me with an ileostomy which this MS body can not care for. I am confined to this damn hospital bed. My family, who rode a roller coaster of emotions as they watched me fight the infection called cdiff, were allowed feelings of happiness and relief when I survived. Now they are reminded that they'd been left with the shell of a wife and mother where MS still resides.
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